


Varṇamālā

by avani



Category: Hindu Religions & Lore
Genre: Multi, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-30 21:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 7,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15760245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: A collection of brief stories centering around various figures from Indian mythology, each corresponding to a letter of the alphabet.





	1. Table of Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS

A - Anger, Kannagi (Silappatikaram)

B - Betrayal, Ulupi (Mahabharata)

C - Cherish, Subhadra (Mahabharata)

D - Different, Bharata (Ramayana)

E- Euphoria, Abhimanyu (Mahabharata)

F- Fractal, Bhishmuka & Rukmini

G- Greed, Kubera & Venkateshwara

H- Hatred, Yudhisthira (Mahabharata)

I-Isometric, Kartikeya & Ganesha

J- Justice, Shakuni & Amba (Mahabharata)

K - Krishna, Arjuna (Mahabharata)

L - Loyalty, Karna (Mahabharata)

M - Melodious, Karna/Vrushali (Mahabharata)

N - Narrative, Savitri

O- Overwhelmed, Usha/Aniruddha

P - Promises, Bhima (Mahabharata)

Q - Questions, Yudhisthira (Mahabharata)

R - Revenge, Amba (Mahabharata)

S - Stars, Sahadev/Draupadi (Mahabharata)

T - Tableau, Gandhari (Mahabharata)

U - Unladylike, Chitrangada (Mahabharata)

V- Valiant, Arjuna/Subhadra (Mahabharata)

W - Wherewithal, Mandodari (Ramayana)

X- Xyloid, Ambika and Ambalika (Mahabharata)

Y- Yellow, Draupadi (Mahabharata)

Z - Zeal, Vrishketu (Mahabharata)


	2. Anger, Kannagi (Silappatikaram)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @mayavanavihariniharini !

Kannagi is abandoned by her husband, and she does not become angry. Not towards Kovalan; never towards him. A good wife does not behave in such a way, although she sometimes thinks of what a good husband ought to do. She holds her head high when people whisper of how they pity her plight and scrapes together what little money she can to survive. She remains faithful, when he did not, for what else can she do?

Kannagi is replaced by Madhavi, and she does not become angry. Not towards a fellow woman; never towards her. A good woman does not acknowledge the existence of a disreputable dancer, even to hate her, and besides—Kannagi knows better than most how very few options are open for a woman to earn her bread. Even when she hears of the birth of Madhavi’s daughter (and a daughter, who would belong to her, as a son must surely be Kovalan’s), her barren womb does not embitter her. She closes her eyes, and wishes them well, for what else can she do?

Kannagi is lost among the masses that make their home in Madurai, and she does not become angry. Not towards the King and Queen; never towards them. A good citizen does not admit such disloyalty, since even the royal couple cannot do away with all their people’s problems. The city is surrounded with poverty and pestilence, and the palace seems oblivious, but surely it cannot be so. Surely it is only a matter of time before relief comes; until then, they can always sell her jewelry if they must. She grits her teeth, and waits for Kovalan to return, for what else can she do?

Kannagi is widowed by the King of Madurai’s carelessness, here in the midst of the goddess’s own city, here in a world that stinks of selfishness and greed, and she finds she can become very angry indeed.


	3. Betrayal, Ulupi (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @mayavanavihariniharini!

Arjuna, my husband, if you are not mistaken and I do instigate your son against you out of spite, what do you consider the cause for such faithlessness? Our liaison was short-lived but sweet, and I spoke truth when I assured you that we serpents are not jealous. Suppose, too, that I seem bitter at being absent from your thoughts; expect not that you were always at the forefront of mine. I am a princess, as are you a prince, and my secrets are my own and seldom shared. Suffice it to say that whatever offenses you have against me —and, I am sure, there are many—disloyalty should not stand among them.

Chitrangada, my sister, what accusations you send my way! So soon have the sleepless nights we spent soothing your son in his nursery slipped your mind? So soon shall you forget how I swore he should be as my own, kissing his soft skin as he stared at my scales? My sister, you say that I show myself savage and severe since my son fell at his father’s side while yours stayed safe from battle—but did we not sob together at the news? Should my pain be considered any less than your own?

Babruvahana, shout on—I shall not dissuade you. It is a sorrowful destiny to cause a sire’s death; but before you speak further of my deceit, of how I steered you towards such a sin: consider. Since you were small, I sheltered and supported you; sang to you and smiled at you. Since you stood on unsteady feet and staggered to my side, my heart has known not one, but two sons. Should it now turn against you? Such is she who you suspect of such duplicity—oh my son, yours is the sharpest sting of all.


	4. Cherish, Subhadra (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @fierarain!

Her brothers have their responsibilities.

Subhadra has heard stories of the saviors of Vrindavan, the destroyers of demons, the defenders of cowherds and herds of cows alike. And no less laudable have their careers been since they came to Mathura, and then onwards, to Dwaraka: they debate politics and decree the law with the utmost confidence. Balarama masters fields and guides farmers; Krishna counsels kings and challenges every injustice he finds. To be their sister could be considered a terrible burden, for what role is left for her to claim as her own?

Subhadra knows better; or at least that protection comes with a price.

It can only last so long. Subhadra knows, even before Krishna speaks of Kurukshetra, before Balarama inadvertently fuels the flames of rivalry between the Kauravas and their cousins, before Gandhari pronounces her terrible curse, that the end of Kuru and Yadava alike is imminent.

So Subhadra dedicates herself to a duty less dramatic than those of her brothers but no less deserving: she will nurture that which is most important of all.

Through her will be born hope, and through her history: her brothers may create stories, but Subhadra will ensure that they are remembered.


	5. Different, Bharata (Ramayana)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @allegoriesinmediares!

His brothers have changed.

This is what Bharata thinks as he recieves them for the first time in fourteen years, and he need not revise his opinion in the days that follow. At first he assumes this is only because of the remarkable feats they have performed, the things they have seen: though neither Rama not Lakshmana speak much of their accomplishments, their allies are more than capable of describing their deeds.Little Lakshmana, once afraid of the dark, defeated a demon who’d overcome the king of the gods himself; Sita withstood the wickedness and witchcraft of an entire city; and not nearly enough can be said of Rama, who slew all ten heads of Ravana!

But that, Bharat reasons, cannot be the answer. The three who return from the forest are only somewhat more weary, particularly about the eyes. And if they have been heard to remark that it is uncomfortably quiet in this palace, when they are used to birdsong and the babbling of brooks, that is nothing that cannot be forgiven.

Instead what is different is this: Lakshmana, who before was stubborn in his belief that his favorite brother was the only worth noticing, now nods and smiles at Bharata as well; Rama, who was always eldest and exemplary, now asks for his advice. Nothing in their experience would explain such a change in their conduct; nothing should have made them humble instead of proud.

He doesn’t see that the difference is to be found in him.


	6. Euphoria, Abhimanyu (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @fierarain!

He has always felt as though he should; he, the son of Arjuna, who is so famously focused on the art of the bow, who finds all his delight on the battlefield. Oh, assuredly Abhimanyu is talented; how could he not be? But combat comes far too easily to him to pose any challenge; he bores of it all too easily.

“I am glad to hear it,” says his uncle Krishna. “No man ought to take pleasure in bloodshed.”

That is not so comforting as it might appear. His uncle has the uncanny ability to tell people what they most want to hear, and while he never speaks an untruth, his answers are never so simple as they seem. He thinks, guiltily, that the father he hardly remembers would be appalled at him; that Arjuna would never be so reluctant to raise arms.

“I think,” says Uncle, “that your father might surprise you.”

When war comes, at first it is arranged that Abhimanyu will play his part only by wedding, and giving their allies an excuse to gather. “You are far too young,” say his parents and uncles firmly, “for anything else.”

This is unfair. He is sixteen, and his brothers hardly older, and besides, as little as he wants to fight, he knows he must to avenge his mother Draupadi.

He insists, and his wish is granted. So Abhimanyu joins the greatest men of the generation, hears their grumbling and their grandstanding, watches their skin flush and eyes grow bright from the thrill of the fight. He still does not understand the appeal, still cannot muster up anything but faint grim distaste even as he shoots down a wall of enemy soldiers. He shares this with no one, but, he is certain, they must all know.

And then comes the _chakravyuh_ , and Abhimanyu’s famous, reckless charge forward. He knows he is trapped almost at once, and this day likely than not will be his last, but for once it does not matter; his heart quickens and his vision sharpens, and this must be what everyone else feels, every day that they fight. He is overjoyed to be one of them at last; he thinks he can ask nothing else of the gods, not even his life.

Abhimanyu dies on the battlefield, the only one among the warriors of Kurukshetra to fall with joy in his heart, the only one to find any happiness and honor whatsoever. 


	7. Fractal, Bhishmuka & Rukmini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @allegoriesinmediares!

Bhishmuka is sure what to expect from his youngest child when she is born: following a family of boisterous boys, she will bluster and boom in her youth— a pale imitation of her brothers until her mother teaches her better. But Rukmini, much to his surprise, is soft-spoken and self-possessed, staring back at her sire with solemn eyes.

Well, then, he assumes; she must only be what all girls are—an adornment to their clan until they are safely wed. But Rukmini, once she grows old enough to read and write, proves herself hardly content to rest as decoration, despite her loveliness. Slowly, gently, so cleverly he hardly realizes it, his daughter takes over the account books of the kingdom, and shows signs of genius at balancing debts, at investing wealth in exactly the right gambles. The people give up taxes into her hands eagerly, for they know she will return them a thousandfold; she does not disappoint.

Nonetheless he knows her marriage shall be just as he—or rather, her brother—has planned. Rukmini might have made clear her determination to wed the brilliant young lord of Dwaraka and her scorn for Shishupal; but she greets Rukmi’s decree of her forced marriage with only a long level look. She will cry, Bhishmuka thinks, but capitulate in the end; he cannot imagine she might do any different. More’s the pity, too, Krishna is a fine young man, and the Yadavas as useful an ally as all the armies of Magadha. Rukmini is only a woman, though, and he cannot expect any more resistance from her.

And then the news comes from the temple of Krishna’s convenient abduction, his son’s disgrace, and Bhishmuka must concede that his daughter is far more complex that he ever imagined.


	8. Greed, Kubera & Venkateshwara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @singingthunderstorms!

Almost it seems a joke, to loan to the Lord of all what is his own creation; but no, he is told, there is a way to such things. He draws up the contract, therefore, haggles over interest as he would with any other, and wonders how mere mortals might produce enough gold to pay the debt of a deity.

The Lord, though, when he is asked, only smiles.

“Is all wealth to be measured in money?” he asks gently. “Or shall the love of my people be worth a thousand times more than what they give up for me?”


	9. Hatred, Yudhisthira (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @singingthunderstorms!

A truly virtuous man does not know hatred.

Yudhishthira, called Dharmaraja, knows this all too well. A wise man knows that indulging in anger is useless, that it leads only to imprudent decisions and rash vows; and have they not suffered enough from these in this family? For this reason, he forces himself to counsel forgiveness, to preach mercy, to turns his face away as Bhima shouts and Arjuna leaves and Draupadi wails—

A truly virtuous man does not know love.Yudhisthira,  called Dharmaraja, knows all too well that this is why he will never be worthy of his name.


	10. Isometric, Kartikeya & Ganesha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @allegoriesinmediares!

The world thinks of them as opposite: brothers and so bonded, to be sure, but entirely opposed.

The merry one, and the military one; the bachelor and the bridegroom; the witty and the wise. It is easier, perhaps, to split them so, to forget that while one was born of their mother’s blessing, and the other from their sire’s spark, that both were granted gifts from both their divine parents equally.

They forget that elephants, however gentle, are ridden into war; and feared for their rages. They forget that often the best way to remove obstacles is to defeat them thoroughly. They forget that come what may, they are siblings who love and trust each other, and that they work best when they are together.


	11. Justice, Shakuni & Amba (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @singingthunderstorms!

In the course of her wanderings, at last Amba comes to Gandhara. Here, after all this time, is a land where she is not known as the ruined princess of Kashi; here is a land where the influence of the Kurus has not yet spread. She sees this in the generosity of Saubala, who opens his house to her. She sees this in the kingdom, that gleams golden and glistening in her eyes: a sharp contrast from the gloom and gales that characterize her home.

She befriends the young prince, and he her.

Some prurient voices guess that perhaps he desires her, half-grown stripling though he is, but Amba pays them no heed. She has known passion and she has known possession and she wants no part of either. She wants to sit here, beside this clever boy she is fortunate enough to call her friend and tell him her tale. When she is finished, he offers neither charity nor chastisement, but only the clear-eyed observation that he must not be very kind, this Bhishma, and Amba must laugh.

Ganga’s son is mighty and mild by turns, particularly when his stepmother is involved, courageous and cowed, but kind? Never.

“I wish he had been,” says Shakuni, “for your sake.”

She teaches him to play dice. They spend many hours in that happy hobby; he takes to it as quickly as her sisters never had, as Amba always hoped her children someday would. She takes pride in him, and dares to hope—for the first time in years—that she might have found peace.

That is when the messengers from Hastinapur arrive.

They bring tidings of Ambika’s son—and. A son. Her Ambika, her little Ambika, old enough to be mother to a grown son! They demand the hand of the princess for Bhishma’s nephew, and Amba’s delight fades as her face darkens with rage.

She warns Saubala of the fate of the Kurus’ daughters-in-law, that his precious child will be called by the name of her country rather than the name bestowed upon her at birth, that she too will join the ranks of silent suffering women on which that accursed dynasty is built, but he will not listen. Amba sees, all too well, that she will never be free of Hastinapura and its patriarch until her revenge is complete. She gives brusque orders; the bonfire is constructed, and Amba is finally free.

Shakuni discovers what has happened far too late: too late to save his sister from an alliance already agreed upon, too late to save his friend from the only shelter she could find. He kneels among the ashes that are all that are left of the Princess Amba, and among them he finds the dice she had tossed with him so many times before.

Her final gift to him: he grips them tightly.

With these shall he write the end of a dynasty that dealt nothing but deceit, and with these shall he win justice for all the women he has ever loved.

He swears it shall be so.


	12. Krishna, Arjuna (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @fierarain!

They are a study in contrasts, these two cousins.

Arjuna is fair of face and forbidding, as Krishna is dark-skinned and disarming; Sabyasachi smiles only rarely, but Shyam has a mouth made for laughter. At times it is difficult to see what pleasure they could possibly find in each other’s company, but something, certainly, there must be.

Perhaps it is this: both of them know, all too well, what it is to be tucked in the middle of a trail of siblings, not responsible enough to be respected as the eldest should be, not careless enough to be coddled as the youngest should be.

Perhaps it is this: that one likes to give orders, and the other to obey. So at least Duryodhana jeers, and neither Jishnu or Janardhana offer any rebuttal. They need not; they know all too well that they are equally wise and equally wary, and there is no one else in the world who they trust as they do each other.

Perhaps it is as simple as this: that their joys are shared, as are their sorrows, and when Narayan reminds Nara that they are but one and the same, it can be nothing but the truth.


	13. Loyalty, Karna (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @mayavanavihariniharini!

The kingdom of Anga is considered a model vassal: taxes are always paid on time, edicts from Hastinapura quickly and clearly communicated, rebellions ruthlessly put down. If only other lands could learn from its example of how to treat their liege lord!

The King of Anga, however, finds himself uncomfortable with such praise. He would rather be known for his generosity: there is a virtue that he cultivates and celebrates in himself. In a lifetime filled with want, to fulfill the needs of others satisfies his soul. But loyalty: loyalty is not something for which he ought to be lauded, even when it is the only thing for which Bhishma, that stingy graybeard, ever compliments him.

For should it be considered loyalty when what binds him to Hastinapur is not heroism, helpfulness, or even simple habit: but instead the existence of the one human being to whom he owes everything? One is not considered loyal for not wanting to be separated from one’s eyes, one’s body, one’s lifeblood; and his allegiance to Duryodhana is nothing less. Or more, even, for eyes can be plucked from the skull, bodies burned, and blood spilled–but his bond with Duryodhana shall outlast them all.


	14. Melodious, Karna/Vrushali

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @ekdesichokari!

By night she wakes, and creeps from the bed where her husband still slumbers: a habit of long standing, and by no means a slight to her chastity. But she had a love before she ever encountered the king of Anga, and it is that which she must indulge tonight. The moon has already set, and the palace entirely too silent.

Her fingers find the frets of her instrument even in the darkness; she relaxes. The familiarity of the actions is a comfort, worth all the difficulty of snuggling the santoor from her home without her family’s knowledge. The first few notes are unpracticed, unsteady—marriage does not afford her much time for leisure—but the next few more confident, and those following after, every bit as sweet and sure as ever. She plays, near-drunk with pleasure, until she realizes she is not alone. Her hands still; her heart twists with shame.

“Please,” says her husband with every sign of sincerity, “do not stop.”

“I—I—“ She knows even as she speaks that she has no explanation to offer. “I did not mean—“

“You are most talented,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to her distress. “I wonder that you did not play for me earlier.”

Then she sees the problem: he simply does not understand. “It is not seemly,” she tells him, uncomfortably aware that she sounds like nothing less than an echo of her mother.

“No? Is not Vasudev Krishna famous in all the world for his talent on the flute?”

He does not understand at all; and she had so hoped he would! “What the Lord of Dwarka might do is not fitting in a royal princess,” she reminds him.

Then he grasps her meaning; his lips curl. “Even when she is only the wife of a sutaputra?”

Her first instinct is to lie, to tell him such a thought had never occurred to her; but then she remembers that their lives are to be one? What wisdom is there in concealing the way of the world? “All the more, in that case,” she admits, meeting his gaze squarely. “Eccentricity is so more easily tolerated in the high-born.”

His shoulders relax, and she knows honesty was indeed the wisest choice to have made. “That may be so,” and she thinks it is as close as he can come to admitting she was right; “but,” his voice softens, sounds young and vulnerable, “that does not mean you cannot play for me when we are alone.”

It is a question, not a command, and she draws in a delighted breath. There is only one answer she can give him, even were he not her lord and her love, but she is grateful he makes even the pretense of asking.

“Yes,” she says, “yes, yes, I shall.”


	15. Narrative, Savitri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @allegoriesinmediares!

The first three of Savitri’s boons are famous, of course–her father-in-law’s throne, a hundred siblings, her husband’s life–but the fourth lesser known, as it should be. It comes about when the Lord of the Dead warns her not to speak of what she has seen, and, obedient as always, assents.

“Of course,” she murmurs, “such things are not meant for the minds of mortals.”

He smiles, but looks upon her still with some suspicion; he has learned to be wary of this sharp-witted princess.

And so he should; Savitri continues, “but Lord, will not some say: that how is it that Savitri, prophesied to be widowed, has returned with her Satyavan? Is it not that she replaces him with another, as easily as a princess replaces her fine clothes?”

Indeed such calumny should be a hard fate; the Lord of the Dead consents that all should know of Satyavan’s resurrection.

Savitri continues, “But, Lord, will not some say: that Savitri was given only those scraps of pity one affords the poor? I am a King’s daughter, as you well know, and to be thought of as such would bring me only shame.”

Indeed such disrepute should be bitter to bear; the Lord of the Dead agrees that all should know that Savitri had been granted gifts, not charity.

Savitri folds her hand in gratitude, but goes on to add gently, “But, Lord, will you then have it bantered about that Savitri’s beauty and charm were all that won her what she wished? For I am a woman, you recall; and in no other manner are men accustomed to speak of me.”

At that the Lord of the Dead laughs. Just as the immortals do, he knows that she is known for her splendour above all else, and how it tires her; he is the Lord of Justice before he is anything else.

“Go, then, Savitri,” he proclaims, “and may the world bear witness to your wit and courage. Before anyone takes Satyavan’s name, let them take yours first. Even when all others from your generation are forgotten, may you be remembered, my daughter; and in that manner, be made immortal even after you come to live in my realm.”

Savitri bows her head, satisfied.


	16. Overwhelmed, Usha/Aniruddha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @mayavanavihariniharini!

She is the princess of Shonitpur, pride of Prahlad’s line, and she is not easily overcome.

But this man—boy, really, hardly older than she, and does that not make it all the more shameful?—somehow possesses the ability to steal her breath, stir her passions, slip into her dreams effortlessly. She has neither name nor knowledge of his nobility to justify her love for him. She has no assurance that he will make a fitting match for Banasura’s beloved child, other than her own awareness that her heart could never betray her so. She will not stoop beneath her status, even in fantasy; and so this “Aniruddh” must indeed be descended from an equally mighty king.

She is her father’s favorite, and given great authority by him; her attention is not be wasted on handsome human strangers. But it is too late, and has been since she first saw his face during their shared slumber: she must have him, come what may, before her duties as her father’s heir suffer further.

Chitralekha is the most competent of her lieutenants, capable of identifying a man from her mistress’s vague description. She can be trusted to make her away across the ocean and find the stranger, and if sweet words and persuasion do not work, she has no compunction about kidnapping. Usha could do no better herself.

She shall have her handsome lover, and so cure herself of lovesickness. What Father does not know will not hurt him. And if Aniruddh’s family should put up a fuss, then so much the better in establishing the power of his pedigree. If they cannot be counted on to try and rescue him, then they are not worthy to welcome her into their midst as daughter-in-law.

After all, she is Usha, named for the insurmountable dawn that cannot be defeated, even by the longest night; and she is not, not shall she ever be, easily overcome.


	17. Promises, Bhima (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @the-windigos-are-listening!

“Must all your vows end in broken bones and blood?” asks his brother exasperatedly, and Bhima smiles to himself. They know of the vows he took himself–all the world does, especially after he fulfilled them in such spectacular fashion–but not of the hardest promise he has had to make, and the only one that ever mattered. **  
**

They all remember Father, even the younger ones, and how he would always make time to focus on each of them in turn, though his love for them was unchanging. He taught Yudhisthir to love the game of dice, to associate it with comfort and ease; he ordered Arjuna to never take his eye from his target, so that he could always know exactly who or what he would shoot; he told Nakul there was no more handsome or well-mannered boy in all the world. Even as he bought Sahadev star charts from the sages who lived nearby, he reminded him to pay as much attention to the world around him as he did the world above.

Bhima he left with no such warnings or weaknesses. Bhima he would have sit beside him, smuggling him sweets that his mother had forbidden, whispering jokes into his ear. Bhima was the one he had with him the evening a shadow passed over his face, and he said, urgently–

“When I am gone–”

Bhima frowned. “Where are you going? I want to come with you!”

Father smiled. “Not yet, my son. Not for many years to come, I pray. But–in my absence, I must leave you with a grave duty.”

For Father, he could do anything. “What is it?”

“Your elder brother is the mind of this family: disciplined but too easily dissuaded. Arjuna is the heart: firm but fickle, Nakula the face that represents us to the world, and Sahadev the eyes that see all and say nothing.”

“And my mothers?”

“Your mothers are the spine that keep us standing upright, tall and proud.”

His brothers, his mothers….that left only him.

“What am I?”

“Ah,” Father put his arm around him. “That, Bhima, is what I mean to tell him. You are the skin and sinew and muscle, that protects but–more important–keeps us together. And it is that I want you to remember, come what may. Give me your word, Bhima; do that much for me.”

“I promise, Father,” Bhima said, with little thought to what it would mean. But the next day, Father was dead, and before he knew it, Mother Madri with him; and that promise, carelessly given, became a duty.

So Bhima plays the fool when he must, eats more than his allotted share of food so that his brothers will complain; rages against their cousins to remind them that their enemies are anyone but each other. A difficult task, and a thankless one–but Bhisma’s descendant is no less capable of fulfilling terrible things for his father’s love.


	18. Questions, Yudhisthira (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @mayavanavihariniharini!

He must know every answer. Is that not his duty, as eldest, never to admit uncertainty? If he falters, who will guide his brothers, protect them from their cousins, shield them from the scrutiny of the future?

So he believes until all his fine thoughts lead him and his family only to the forest to endure exile.

Draupadi is not the only one to demand explanations of the Lord of Dwaraka. Yudhishthira reels no less from the reversal of all he had known.

He has done what is right, and obeyed the dictates of _dharma_ , so why does he suffer? What justice is this, what deception on the part of the gods? He is utterly lost, wandering and wondering in despair; is this state of ignorance what they desire?

But Krishna only smiles. “How will you ever learn, Elder Brother, if the world has nothing to teach you?”


	19. Revenge, Amba (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @mayavanavihariniharini!

The kitchens were once her favorite place in the palace.

No one believes that now. Princesses, bent on revenge, rejected thrice over, cannot have pastimes so peaceful as watching the cooks prepare dinner; no, indeed, they must only instigate sages to fight their innocent disciples. They must rage and roar and must never ever rejoice in the soothing sound of meat simmering above a fire, in the smell of spices sharp and pungent in the air.

Princesses, bent on revenge, must retreat to the forest. The only food there is plain and simple, the better to starve oneself to seek justice from the gods. The gods are merciful; the gods listen where mortals do not. Or perhaps it is just that the gods have not yet seen stranger things in this world than a woman who lives on her own, cast off by her father, sent away by her lover, and betrayed by the brothers who ruined her life and wish to see where her story shalll lead her.It leads her far away from the kitchens, far away from herself. That sacrifice she is prepared to make.

Impetuous Amba, they say, who cannot wait to wreak vengeance, who casts herself into the fire rather than endure any longer. They do not consider that a woman can only shield herself with her reputation: if that of chastity is destroyed, then another of ferocity must replace it. Impatient Amba, they say, when she knows better than anyone else that revenge is a dish best served cold; she will return, when it is time, to see it placed before Bhishma, to watch comprehension of what he has done dawn in his eyes.

Imprudent Amba, they say, when she is wisest of them all.


	20. Stars, Sahadev/Draupadi (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @chaanv!

An owl hoots outside, and Draupadi stirs. It seems the youngest of her husbands has yet to sleep, despite the hour, and if she does not intervene, he’ll wander the halls of Indraprastha the next day, heavy-lidded and hopelessly dazed: hardly befitting the Kuru honor.

As she expects, Sahadev is to be found on the roof, peering up at the sky and scribbling indecipherable notes to himself. She pauses to study him, smiling, and speaks:

“My lord, midnight has come and gone.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he replies absently, and she sees the time for sweet words has long since passed.

“Not ‘in a minute,’” Draupadi says, arms akimbo, tone a passable imitation of her mother-in-law’s at her most forbidding. “Now.”

Sahadev sighs, but puts down his work. “You billy me terribly. Are you not meant to show respect for your elders?”

She laughs; if there is one satisfaction Sahadev can take it is that she alone in the family is younger than he. “You are certainly that,” she says, “and so I’ve come to put your decrepit bones to bed.”

Sahadev follows obediently but Draupadi can not resist stealing a look at the night sky that fascinates him so. The pole star is all she can identify with any sort of reliability, but surely there must be more to it than that.

“What do they say?” she asks, curious.

“There’s a surprise arriving soon.” He brightens. “Maybe it will be my brother home from his pilgrimage.”

Draupadi smiles at the thought, but continues: “And are your stars always to be trusted to speak the truth?”

“Usually.” Sahadev shuffles his feet. “They told me of you, even before we came to Panchala.”

“And what did they speak of them?”

“Destruction. Vengeance. War.”

Draupadi catches her breath: these are hardly the words of a lover, much less a husband. He does not meet her eyes, which is hardly a surprise. Still, Draupadi is not one to be discomfited by such small things. She merely raises an eyebrow.

“Yet you didn’t stop your brother from winning me, or your mother from declaring I should wed you all, even with so unflattering a reputation. Why?”

He does look up at that, and then she has her answer. It is a deep love indeed that knows what has been bred into her by her father, knows everything she might be capable of, and does not care. It is a love that deserves equal devotion in return.

“You should rest, my lord,” she reminds him gently, turning to go, and Sahadev follows.


	21. Tableau, Gandhari (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @allegoriesinmediasres!

This is what they shall remember years from now.

The dice hall of Hastinapur, meant for amusement, now only witness to shame; row after row of faces averted from the tragedy of their sister-in-law, daughter-in-law, wife dishonored. It is silent as any portrait, now that Draupadi’s angry sobs have faded, now that Vikarna’s questions go unanswered.

They sit, these great men and women of the greatest empire of the world, as still as the statues that decorate the halls. At least those have an excuse for their inaction;Gandhari does not.

This is what history will remember years from now: this image of inaction, this illusion of cowardice disguised as helplessness.The legacy of the Kurus, immortalized in this one terrible tableau: and only then does Gandhari, to her horror, realize that she will be held—that she _is_ — as guilty as any of the rest.


	22. Unladylike, Chitrangada (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @mayavanavihariniharini!

Unruly Chitrangada, they call her, uncivil Chitrangada; Chitrangada who wishes she were a man.

In this, as in so many other things, they are wrong.

To begin. Do they know anything of the forest or understand any of its decrees? There are places where one walks unafraid through the trees, and places one avoids; places meant for laughter and sport and places meant for silence and reverence. Chitrangada knows all of them, has since she was just a little girl exploring the hills of Manipur; how can they claim, therefore, that rules and regulations are unknown to her?

As for civility: Well. Chitrangada has been taught the ways of wild things, which are by far more cordial than any courtier could be. Beasts do not take more than they need, nor do they strike at their fellows for anything other than fear. Each of their kind is equally dear and equally despised; their children are protected but not pampered. If the world means her to have morals other than these, Chitrangada wants no part of them.

And lastly–although outsiders might gossip and grimace at a woman who knows the arts of war, Chitrangada laughs Not for her the solution of Shikandi, though she hears he is well pleased by it; Chitrangada weaves her hair with flowers, delights in soft silks, and wields her weapons with utmost grace. If that is unknown to them, and unnatural because of it, than so be it. Chitrangada is no more and no less than herself, despite slurs and scorn, and that shall never change.


	23. Valiant, Arjuna/Subhadra (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @ekdesichokari!

Armies around the world live in fear of the arrows of Arjuna; the bards sing verse after verse of his valor. And yet—faced as he is with the army of the Yadavas, he finds himself lost for words and, loath though he is to admit it, more terrified than he has ever been in his life.

If they had been unknown to him, it would be easier; if it was only an adversary he must shoot down, he would not hesitate. But these are people who he knows and likes, and who he wants to know and like him in return.

_Shall this be your legacy?_ A voice in the back of his mind, not unlike his cousin’s, mocks. _To take fright at the thought of fighting your loved ones?_

He has no time to consider this; Subhadra tosses her head and steps down from the chariot. There are many types of valor, Arjuna knows, and, it seems, his new bride possesses far more of it than he does.


	24. Wherewithal, Mandodari (Ramayana)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @allegoriesinmediares!

Ravana—the mighty, the feared—is dead.

For a moment Mandodari wishes she too might die, that she too might take the solace Sulochana has chosen; not merely out of grief, though she mourns her husband as deeply as do his other brides. Rather, she finds herself reluctant to take up the responsibility that is now hers: reluctant, but no less resigned.

Ravana loved Lanka, strengthened and protected it, to be sure, but Lanka existed before him and will outlast him. It must; Mandodari loves it too fiercely and too well to let it sink beneath the waves.

It cries to her, within her soul, this jewel-like island she left the wonders of the heavens to come rule; this strip of land she would choose over the heavens time and time again: _Mother, what shall we do? What shall become of us?_

_We are strong_ , Mandodari declares, as much to herself as to her kingdom;, _and wise, and more resourceful than we know. We have everything we need in order to survive._


	25. Xyloid, Ambika and Ambalika (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @allegoriesinmediares!

They love their sister, but they do not understand her. Amba is all steel, sharp and severe, ready to scratch out the eyes of anyone who so much as gazes at her younger sisters with unfriendly intent. They fear nothing, so long as they are with her; they need not.

Then she leaves them behind to seek out the King of Salva.

It might have been better if they learned to be replace her, to take on her characteristics: if Ambika were less willing to make excuses rather than refuse outright, if Ambalika were less prone to becoming paralyzed with terror. But they cannot; it is not their way.

This does not mean they cannot adapt. This does not mean they do not change.

Their sister is steel, but they are wood, warm and willing to the touch but every bit as durable. They can be carved, where metal stays rigid, and coaxed, but still, they will survive. Wind cannot harm them, water carefully carries them back to the surface with a blessing; only fire holds any sort of danger in store for them.

They love their sister, but they are not like her; and at night, their arms stretch across their beds towards each other, like branches that know no other way to grow.


	26. Yellow, Draupadi (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by myself!

Yellow means many things to Draupadi.

It is the smear of turmeric that always settles upon her silks when she cooks, no matter how careful she means to be. It is the soft splendor of sunlight, its warmth magnified by the windows of this grand palace Mayasura has built for them. It is the golden gleaming coats of her husbands’ horses; it is the fluttering banner of the _karnikara_ tree that her darling Abhimanyu has chosen for himself.

But best and most beloved of all, it is always a sign of the approach of her dearest and most dependable friend.


	27. Zeal, Vrishketu (Mahabharata)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @ekdesichokari!

Kurukshetra is a wildfire, that scorches and savages its victims; even those surviving are left only shadows of their past selves. Vrishketu is no exception.Then, he had a father and brothers and a future before him; now he has only mothers scarred over with grief, uncles he has been taught to hate since birth, and the shame of living on when everyone he loved is gone.

He takes to his bed. Battlefield fever, many assume; there’s more than one wound that’s taken rot in these eighteen days, and certainly fatigue is a common enough complaint. His uncle—the new King—Yudhishthira sends physicians aplenty to his bedside, but how can they treat a malady of the mind? The enthusiasm, all the joy had ever felt, dimmed the instant the brilliance of his father set, and he hopes only to join him soon.

So he thinks when the Empress finds him. The Empress, the Princess Panchali, who had dared refuse Father; the dread Draupadi whose rage caused this conflagration. Despite everything, Vrishketu pales.

“I have no sons,” she announces with preamble, and he knows that, all the world knows that, why must she remind him? Does she suppose herself the only one to have so suffered? “They are dead, all of them, at the hands of your army.”

“I cannot replace them,” he says. Is that all she has to offer, to tether him to life? He will not accept her in place of his father; he cannot.

She shakes his head; her eyes are beautiful, the look in them brittle. “How could you?” she demands and relieved, he realizes that she at least understands his heart. “But if my sons’ fate was to perish, your punishment in place of your kinfolk can be no less. You are to live, Vrishketu, and not take the coward’s escape. You are to be the man your father never could be. Such judgment I pronounce upon you.”

He shudders at the thought, but does not look away. Better and braver men than he have defied the Queen of Indraprastha, and none of them survive to tell the tale. Slowly, Vrishketu rises.

**Author's Note:**

> Varṇamālā - (Sanskrit) order or series of letters, the alphabet.
> 
> Briefly, this is a collection of ficlets and drabbles, all based on one-word prompts sent to me on Tumblr, each starting with a different letter of the alphabet. Each centers around characters and stories from Indian mythology. If interested, Mark II of the challenge is still open to prompts and can be found [HERE!](https://avani008.tumblr.com/post/175022241785/alphabet-fic-challenge-mythology-mark-ii)


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